


for satisfaction, kill a cat

by Magpied_Spider



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Canon Era, Duelling, Gen, do not mess with the mustelidae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:38:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7403125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpied_Spider/pseuds/Magpied_Spider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>the challenge demands satisfaction</em><br/>or<br/>dueling in a world with dæmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for satisfaction, kill a cat

**Author's Note:**

> using musical canon here, as evidenced by Burr's presence

"Would you say your heart was in your words?"

The conversation fell silent - Lee had, like his fellows, dismissed the argument as a jumpy upstart trying to throw his weight around, or thinking he held more sway than he did. The challenge, however, belied this - it the man was as serious as his passion was hot.

Lee looked him over, calculating, as his dæmon did the same. The lion didn't scoff, per se, at the badger-sized creature at lieutenant colonel's heels, but it was clear that any competition between the two of them would be no contest at all. Lee could see the dæmon sizing up his own with narrowed eyes, refusing to back down to his superior. “If you wish me to recant my words, you'll have to do better than shout. You know where I am to be found.”

Their seconds met, arranging a time and place, for Laurens would not back down, nor would Lee apologise for his remarks about Washington at the court-martial.

Alexander let it lie for a few hours, before finally the worry spinning through his mind and into his dæmon’s - the fidgeting was becoming obvious, there is only so long a parrot can groom her feathers before it becomes noticeable - came out in speech.

“Are you sure about this, Laurens? He’s willing to duel with pistols, you don’t need to--”

“Alexander.” He dropped his hands from his own dæmon, where he’d been unconsciously stroking through her feathers - there was a metaphor there, something to do with protecting one’s dæmon so that one might not lose one’s heart, but it wasn’t a metaphor Alexander was keen to explore - and looked at Laurens, who had half a smile on his face.

“He has a  _ lion _ , Laurens - and I support you, I agree with you completely, I’m honoured you asked me to be your second...”

“However?”

Alexander nodded his head. “However, I truly think you ought to duel with pistols. I could-- I could not stand to watch your soul torn apart.”

The soul in question gave a huff. “Do you truly think so little of me? We may not be able to defend my ideas as eloquently as you, but I know my capabilities.”

Alexander didn’t argue with the dæmon -  _ “She’s a wolverine,” Laurens had told him, what seemed like years ago now _ \- didn’t give voice to the worries that churned within him, that there were times Laurens fought like he had no care whether he lived or died - and didn’t let his hands shake when he gripped Laurens’ shoulder.

“Laurens, you’re the closest friend I’ve got,” he said, instead. Alexander could feel his own dæmon’s longing to jump from his shoulder to Laurens’, to entreat him to reconsider the tools of the duel, but she resisted.

Laurens’ dæmon might have spent the cold nights curled around the tropical bird, but what happened at night was not to be spoken of in the light of day.

“Alexander, I’m not throwing away my shot.”

Burr was Lee’s second, and was dispassionate in his determination of where and when the duel would be held. A place and time that was agreeable to both parties was settled upon, and they parted ways.

Dæmon duels were the logical extension of the posturing and attempts at intimidation encountered in childhood, and required few rules.

There was an understanding that, in the event of a physical fight, the purpose was not to kill the other, but to have them yield. A deliberate, slow placing of jaws around the throat, for instance, without biting down, ought to end a bout, after which it the participants would decide whether or not to take affairs to a second round.

Variations abounded - some insisted on continuing until one dæmon or another succumbed, else it was a misrepresentation of the surety their human had on the subject; some stated overpowering was sufficient to call a truce; and every thought in between.

Lee had brought with him a surgeon - monkey-dæmon hanging off his shoulder, both clearly discomfited in their duty - but had also supplied two pistols.

Burr spoke to Alexander as the two men surveyed the terrain. “Lee wishes to convey that he wishes for no disadvantage for Laurens, nor would he wish for a misplaced sense of pride prevent him from apologising and allowing us to sweep the incident aside.”

Alexander shook his head. “Laurens is quite adamant that he will see this through if Lee does not apologise, and that if Lee is agreeable, he would rather reinforce his challenge through strength of soul, not sleight of hand.”

“It is decided, then?” His fox-dæmon had pricked her ears, the only indicator of the man’s interest in the matter, for his tone was as flat and detached as ever.

Alexander nodded in agreement, and the two seconds returned to the duellists.

They both saw Lee scoff at Laurens’ refusal to take the pistols; Laurens’ expression hardened.

“To first blood?” Lee offered, in a tone that seemed to say,  _ this is barely worth my time _ .

“Until one of us yields,” John countered.

An expression flashed across Lee’s face - it was clear who he thought had the advantage in this duel, that he thought the result was predetermined, that it would not be long before this upstart returned to his place - before he moderated his manner and nodded in agreement.

Their dæmons stepped up, the doctor turned around, and Alexander, heart in his mouth - Laurens’ dæmon seemed so small in comparison, he knew she was strong, but what could stand against a lion? - watched as they took their places.

Alexander tried not to let his anxiety show as the two dæmons circled each other, their humans a few paces away - close enough that the range was not painful, and not near enough to risk any interference. He tried not to imagine how easily the duel could go, how the lion’s jaws could so easily close around Laurens’ dæmon and break her back, break her neck, have her disappear as her human collapsed with the shock of the pain--

The claws of his own dæmon squeezing his shoulder returned him to the present as Lee’s dæmon pounced, lashing out with one of his paws - a paw bigger than John’s dæmon’s head, and with claws to match - but he missed, the wolverine slipping under the paw and, with a snarl, taking a leap and locking jaws around the lion’s jaw - just above the mane, sinking teeth into flesh and scrabbling at the lion’s face.

Lee staggered back, an expression of sympathetic pain replacing the arrogance that had previously marked his face, as his dæmon scrabbled at Laurens’.

Laurens’ face was far from pained - a wild, almost feral grin had split across his face as his dæmon sank down on her haunches, snarling, but patient. She stood just out of the lion’s reach as Lee and his dæmon regrouped.

Without a word, they began circling again - they had agreed to struggle until one of them gave in, and as neither of them were forthcoming, the fight continued.

It was as one-sided as Alexander had feared - though not in the direction he had predicted, and for that he was grateful - Laurens’ dæmon slashing with teeth and claws, heedless of the buffets from the lion on her own body.

Blood stained the wolverine’s teeth as she tore a piece of flesh from the lion’s face, Lee letting out a cry as it landed near him and began to dissolve into nothingness - as his dæmon would, undoubtedly, if the fight continued to the bitter end.

It was not a realisation that was lost on Laurens, who - with no lack of venom, let “Lee!” ring across the field as clear as a bell. His dæmon let off from the lion, who staggered back, towards his human, whose knees hit the ground as he sank down to comfort, to survey the damage, to staunch the bleeding. “Do you yield?”

Lee was kneeling on the ground, by his dæmon, threading his hands through his fur as he struggled to breathe - whether merely through the pain, or if there was some sympathetic throat damage was unclear.

Burr, ever the responsible second, answered for him, “Yes, he yields.”

Laurens’ dæmon gave herself a shake, fur rustling in the motion before settling against her: neat but ungroomed, something wild in the way it fell, in the blood still staining her muzzle, her teeth.

“We’re satisfied,” Laurens allowed.

**Author's Note:**

> according to my copy of great expectations, the phrase ‘you know where i am to be found’ was the phrase understood to be challenging one to a duel. in any case, the phrase in the dæmonverse is ‘is your heart in your words?’ or similar - after all, if you truly believe what you say, you ought to defend it, heart and soul. and the soul, of course, is what fights in this instance.


End file.
